


the rising of the sun, and the running of the deer

by Laylah



Category: Emberverse - S. M. Stirling
Genre: Comfort, Deaf Character, F/F, Home, Paganism, Yule
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-06
Updated: 2010-12-06
Packaged: 2017-10-13 13:15:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/137779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laylah/pseuds/Laylah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The days leading up to Yule bring them all inside, even the forest itself -- cut branches twined together in garlands, decking the entire hall in the deep green of the life that perseveres through the dark.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the rising of the sun, and the running of the deer

The days leading up to Yule bring them all inside, even the forest itself -- cut branches twined together in garlands, decking the entire hall in the deep green of the life that perseveres through the dark. That's become one of Eilir's favorite things about the season, the crisp smell of fir branches coming inside to mingle with the home-smells of bread and stew, smoke and sweat. It's early enough in the winter that having people so close by is comforting, a chance for fellowship, instead of stifling the way it will be by Imbolc. And, of course, everyone's feeling festive.

Tonight, like most of the nights leading up to the holiday itself, there's a group gathered in the main hall to sing carols together. Eilir can't hear them, but she knows the words by heart -- her mother wrote or re-wrote most of them, stealing (stealing _back_ ) Christian versions -- and she can feel the liveliness and good cheer perfectly well without the melody. Most of the carolers are Mackenzies, some of whom have even practiced the songs before; a few of their visitors join in for the choruses, once they've heard the words a time or two.

Astrid is among that number tonight, which means Eilir is extra happy to be part of the festivities; she arrived this afternoon with a few of her friends from the Bearkillers, shaking snow off their cloaks and smiling, teasing the Mackenzies who welcomed them through the gate. She sits in the hall now looking nearly at ease, listening to the songs, her shoulders slowly relaxing as she drinks warm cider and basks by the fire.

Her face brightens at the start of the next song, and Eilir turns to read Juniper's lips to see which one it is. "Of all the trees that are in the wood," Juniper sings, "the holly bears the crown." Of course. A song for the wild wood, for the Mirkwood and Lorien of her books and for their own Mithrilwood where she loves to explore.

Eilir goes to refill her mug from the cider-pot by the fire, so she won't simply sit there staring at Astrid fondly; sometimes that sort of thing still makes Astrid fidget. They were lucky enough to trade for some spices at harvest time, looted from a warehouse the enterprising trader tracked down -- they're old, and not so fresh as they could be, but far better than nothing, and it means there are a few precious sticks of cinnamon bark floating in the cider tonight.

When she turns back, Astrid is frowning in puzzlement -- at the song, Eilir thinks. This is one of the ones that they might still sing in the Bearkillers' halls, too, but rather differently. _The holly bears a berry as white as any flower_ , that's both versions, but _And the Mother bears the Sun Child at the winter's darkest hour_ is pretty specific. Eilir grins, making her way back through the crowded room.

>   
> _The rising of the sun  
>  And the running of the deer  
> The shining of the winter stars  
> At the turning of the year_   
> 

By the time she takes her seat next to Astrid again, Astrid has recovered her composure. Eilir sips her cider and sets it down so she'll have her hands free to talk. _Not what you were expecting?_ she asks.

Astrid shrugs. _It's different_ , she answers. _Definitely not bad. Just different._ She pauses. _Like a lot of things here._

 _We pride ourselves on being the good kind of different_ , Eilir answers, and that makes Astrid smile.

The singers move through this verse and into the chorus, and this time Astrid's lips move with them -- hesitantly, still stumbling a bit, but reaching out. That makes Eilir feel at least as warm as the cider, honestly.

She scoots closer and slides a careful arm around Astrid's waist. Astrid is still wary about letting people close, like a wild cat that knows it's dangerous but also knows there are more dangerous things out there, too. But tonight she relaxes, letting Eilir lean on her shoulder. She still smells just a bit like travel, like saddle leather and the bite of fresh air. The wildness of the wood, coming inside to share their warmth and light.


End file.
